All That Glitters
by sass box
Summary: Kate Beckett was the daughter of a wealthy businessman, Rick Castle was a bestselling author. After meeting at a gala, she didn't expect to need his help with a murder case, where they find out that the most powerful families have the most to hide. AU.
1. Champagne

**disclaimer: **I don't own Castle, all credits go to Andrew Marlowe and ABC. I'm just borrowing the characters.

**a/n: **Here's my first actual Castle mystery-themed non-fluff fic, so I hope it all makes sense in a very AU sort of way.

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><p>'All that glitters is not gold,' - <em>Shakespeare, the Merchant of Venice<em>

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><p>"Thank you," Kate Beckett said with a smile, accepting a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and waiting until he passed to take what she hoped was a discreet swig. She was going to need it to get through this night with her sanity intact. She backed against the wall and took another sip of the fizzing liquid, looking around for somebody to talk to that wouldn't be interested in discussing Fashion Week and the latest scandals. God, her feet already hurt from her sky-high stilettos, and she'd only been in there for ten minutes. It was going to be a long night. On the bright side, she'd already survived the red carpet.<p>

She was just looking for somebody promising to talk to – not somebody who would want to discuss celebrity gossip and Fashion Week – when a strident voice broke into her focus.

"Kate, darling, I haven't seen you in forever!" An older woman with perfectly coiffed and obviously artificially red hair rushed over, arms outstretched for a hug. It took everything Kate had not to back away from her glossy red talons, and she found herself in a bony embrace, with air kisses being placed on either side of her face.

"You too, uh, Mrs. Taylor," she replied, with her perfected toothy smile, hoping she had gotten the name right.

"Dear, I tell you every year, please call me Charlotte. Oh, there's Sylvia, I need to go say hello. I'll see you later, darling." With a wave of her manicured hands, she disappeared back into the crowd.

Kate relaxed back against the wall, and looked down at her glass of champagne, disappointed to find it empty. Damn, she would have to find some more. She handed her glass to passing waiter collecting empty flutes and made her way determinedly towards the back of the Grand Ballroom, searching for another tray of the sparkling golden liquid. She narrowed her flawlessly made-up eyes as she scanned the packed room for a waiter, dodging people carrying canapés and hors d'eouvres. 'Yes!' she thought, snagging a flute off a tray and taking a sip.

"Katie, you're not looking for a way out, are you?"

She whipped around at the touch on her shoulder, almost tripping on her floor-length dress, and breathed out when she saw her father looking immaculate in his tux, smiling at her. "Of course not."

"Good. Remember our deal. Two charity balls a year, that's all. You can do this," he said, pulling her in close for a hug. She breathed in the comforting scent of his cologne. "Go find some poor boy to charm."

"Can I show them my gun?"

"You brought it?" James Beckett looked moderately horrified at the suggestion.

"Kidding." Kate flashed her 'I'm in public and I'm thrilled to be here' smile and ducked under her father's arm, trying not to lose her balance in her precariously high heels. "I'll see you later, Dad." She took cover behind one of the willowy saplings decorated with white Christmas lights until he was safely out of sight, and then began scouting the place for an exit. She began edging for the back of the room, exchanging nods and smiles and waves with people she didn't know, until she bumped into something.

"Hey!" it exclaimed, rather too loudly for her liking, causing her to jump and her champagne to slosh dangerously high in the glass.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry! I didn't see you there." She turned around, finding herself face to face with a handsome man with twinkling blue eyes. "I didn't hurt you did I?"

"No, I'm fine. You didn't spill your champagne, did you?"

"Nope." Kate took a small sip of the drink in question and looked up. "Good thing, it would've been a waste of hideously overpriced alcohol."

"Indeed it would, but I think we're good. Richard Castle." He smiled impishly and held out a hand for her to shake.

Kate began juggling her clutch and drink, trying to spare an arm. She tucked her sparkly silver clutch under her arm and awkwardly held out a manicured hand for him to shake. "Nice to meet you, Richard Castle, I'm Kate Beckett."

"Not James Beckett's daughter?" he asked curiously.

"The very same one," Kate admitted, with a trace of a rueful smile.

"No way! I love his stuff," Castle said. "I wanted him to consult on my place, but I couldn't get a spot."

"He's in pretty high demand," Kate agreed. "And you're not Richard Castle, mystery writer?"

"Extraordinaire," he said, with a wink. "But please, call me Rick."

"Will do, Rick," Kate replied, ignoring his wink and taking another sip of her champagne.

"So, what say you we get out of here?" Rick grinned, looking around for hovering heiresses and ducking a little further back against the wall.

"I know this is New York and we're at a charity ball, but isn't it a little early for that?" Kate asked, raising an eyebrow. She smoothed the folds of her sequined navy evening gown and downed the last of her flute of champagne.

"Oh, nothing dirty," Rick clarified quickly, seeing her skeptical expression. "I promise I'm not as sleazy as that sounded. What I meant was, want to nick a bottle of Moët or Dom Perignon or whatever and go sit on a fire escape and talk?"

"Normally I wouldn't leave with somebody I just met, but that sure as hell sounds better than this," she replied, waving a perfectly manicured hand around to encompass the entire ballroom, with its glamourously dressed occupants and chatter.

"Let's go now, I see Tinsley and Olivia at one o'clock, closing in," Rick said, scanning the large room and taking Kate's arm formally, guiding her through the outskirts of the crowd, where a waltz was beginning. He pulled her gently behind the large fake trees with their haloes of lights, and through the shadow of the big, rose-encrusted bower where she barely had time to put down her empty flute before leading her out a back door she'd never noticed before, even though she'd practically made a career of hiding at events.

Slowly lowering the door closed so it didn't bang, Rick turned around and Kate found herself in a deserted hallway lit with soft golden light. She looked down to see marble floors so shiny she could check her make-up in their reflection.  
>"We're good, agent Beckett," he said, pressing himself flat against the wall and tugging her with him as a maid wheeled a trolley across the top of the hallway. "Wait here, I'm going to go steal a bottle of champagne. If I don't return, abort mission." He turned on his heel and began to walk towards the hallway, disappearing around the corner. Two seconds later, his face reappeared suddenly, finger pressed to his lips. "I repeat, should I disappear, abort mission. Roger?"<p>

"Roger that, agent Castle," she said with a laugh, trying to disguise her small shriek of surprise by pressing her hand to her mouth. Alone in the small hallway, Kate opened her clutch and rummaged through it, fingers skipping over her Glock and finding her cell phone instead. She checked the time, checked her texts, and put it on vibrate before slipping it back into her clutch.

"Success!" Castle rounded the corner, Ferragamos sliding on the slick surface. He put one hand on the wall to steady himself, and waved a dripping bottle of Moët and two flutes like a battle trophy in the other. "You don't suppose this would fit in your clutch, do you?"

"I don't think so," Kate replied, eying the bottle and her tiny silver purse. "Too bad."

"Oh well, it was worth a try," he conceded with a shrug. "Come on, this way." He took her wrist gently, edging his hand up so he wasn't pressing her delicate silver bracelet into her skin, and led her through the maze of corridors until he pushed through a back door and the two emerged into the night in a small courtyard between buildings.

The breeze was like a soft, cool caress. It felt so good on Kate's exposed skin, ruffling her loose updo without causing damage. It was dark, and she felt Rick guiding her past a few potted trees and over to the iron rungs of a hidden fire escape.

"Here, I'll give you a boost up," he offered, putting the bottle of champagne gently on the ground like it was a small child.

"Just a second." Kate bent down and pried off her stilettos, tucking her clutch inside one of them. She grasped a handful of her gown in her hand, wrinkles be damned, and hiked it up around her ankles. She extended a hand to Castle. He wrapped a pair of surprisingly strong arms around her waist and lifted her up. She reached up and hauled herself onto the fire escape. "Can I have my shoes now?"

"Here you go," Castle said with a grin, passing up her Jimmy Choos, two empty flutes and the bottle of Moët. Once they were safe and Kate had sort of settled herself, he pulled himself up and sat on the step below her. Loosening his necktie, he took the bottle of champagne, ripping the foil off.

"Do you have a corkscrew?" asked Kate curiously, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. She had other ways of popping the cork without one, but didn't want to scare him.

"Nope," replied Rick, unscrewing the cage and popping the cork, tossing it over the side. "Want some?"

"Yes, please," Kate said, accepting the glass full of frothing liquid.

"So, Kate Beckett, why haven't I seen you around before?" Rick asked, with a cheesy grin, leaning back against the iron railing.

"I hate charity galas," she admitted, rolling her eyes. "All the glitz and crazy expensive dresses and empty talk and bling. What about you?"

"I usually hide in the back next to the food and alcohol."

"Fair enough," Kate said, taking a pull of champagne. "Dad and I have a deal. I take time off from work to go to two charity galas a year, doesn't matter which two." She readjusted the long skirt of her dress, smoothing the silky material and the sequins so that they lay flat.

"Wait, you actually work for a living? I don't believe it! What do you do?" His blue eyes lit up, focusing in on her face with interest.

"I'm a homicide detective, actually." Kate downed the rest of her drink with a laugh, head thrown back slightly. A few curls slipped loose from her updo, and she didn't move to re-pin them. "I know, hard to believe."

"Do you get to shoot people?" he asked, piqued, as he poured himself another glass.

"Do you want to see my gun?" she returned, popping her clutch open to display her Glock 17, amidst the coiled silver chain of a spare necklace, her badge, driver's license, cell phone, and house keys plus a spare tube of lip gloss.

"Do you always carry it in your purse?" He pulled out her badge and toyed with it, turning it over and over in the dim light.

"Thigh holsters don't work too well with mermaid skirts," she noted casually, closing her clutch and reclaiming her badge. "They tend to show."

"Awesome," breathed Castle in awe. "Most offspring of the rich and famous are into public relations or international relations or managing Daddy or Mommy's business." He paused long enough to take another sip and stare at her for a few seconds. "You don't look like a cop."

"Thanks?" Kate grinned and giggled before she could stop herself, feeling the buzz spreading through her like magic. She'd forgotten that champagne always made her a tad giggly. "Tell me, Rick Castle, what does a cop look like?"

"Not wearing Jimmy Choos and a dress that costs more than most people's monthly rent," he replied, smirking.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said seriously, putting her clutch into her lap and slipping her feet back into her stilettos. "What time is it?"

"Just after 10," replied Castle, checking his phone. Its screen glowed brightly in the darkness.

"Should we be getting back?" asked Kate. "We've been gone for over an hour."

"To socialites drunk on the most expensive champagne money can buy and endless speeches? Nah," Rick said with a chuckle, stretching out lazily against the steps, despite the cramped space. He hadn't expected to enjoy talking with Kate, because these galas were typically so _boring_. He was a writer, for crying out loud. He lived on nights that were like something out of RENT's La Vie Boheme, not charity balls, no matter how good the cause. He wanted inspiration and rubbing elbows with the crème de la crème of New York's society usually sapped whatever creative muse he had.

They stayed like that, still in the warm April night until something buzzed in Kate's clutch. She instinctively shot up, rifling through her tiny purse until she pulled out a cell phone, holding it to her ear. "Beckett," she said, hoping she sounded formal and official despite all the champagne. "5th and Park? I'm within walking distance, give me ten."

"Do you have to go?" asked Castle, pulling himself out his reclining position and trying to stuff the cork back into the bottle of champagne.

"Yeah, murder. Too bad, I was enjoying hiding out." She was already scrambling to get herself ready, tucking her clutch into the bodice of her gown and expertly pulling the skirt of her gown up so it didn't hamper her more. She folded the fabric temporarily into the waistband of her black spandex dance shorts, and began to climb down the ladder. Turning her head, she looked down, trying to gauge the distance to the ground in the darkness. Kicking off her shoes, she released her grip on the bars and dropped about three feet onto flat concrete, bracing herself for the landing. Stumbling slightly and trying to find her equilibrium, she found her shoes, wiped the smudges off their shiny patent surfaces, and slid them back onto her feet, clicking her way over to the ladder, where Castle passed her the two glasses and the bottle of champagne before landing next to her. "I've got to go tell Dad I'm leaving," Kate said with a regretful smile, heading towards the opening of the courtyard, untucking her skirt as she walked, swaying only slightly.

"And I've got to go find some way to amuse myself for the next hour or so. It was nice to meet you, Kate Beckett," said Rick, following her up the steps of the Plaza and into the Grand Ballroom.

"It was nice to meet you too," she replied honestly. "If we ever meet at another one of these we should do the same thing. I'll see you later." She waved to him, making her way over to her father's table, where he sat with a big shot lawyer, a celebrity chef whose name she didn't know, and a far younger socialite.

Dropping a kiss on her father's smooth-shaven cheek, Kate put her purse under her arm. "Dad, I hate to leave early, but there's a crime scene a few blocks from here that I have to go to. I'll find my way home later. Love you," she said sweetly, straightening up to smile at the people around the table for politeness's sake.

"What is it you do?" asked Socialite, fiddling with the diamonds on her clutch.

"I'm a homicide detective," replied Kate coolly, her smile frozen in place. She loved the reactions she got when she told people.

"That's … an interesting profession," the girl remarked, eyebrows shooting straight up and disappearing into her bangs.

"You don't look like a cop," said Celebrity Chef, eyeing her up and down so hard she was surprised his eyes weren't bulging.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Kate popped open her clutch and pulled out her badge, letting the sides of her clutch fall open to expose her Glock. "You know, that's the second time today I've heard that. As nice as it was to see you all, duty calls." With that, she closed her purse with a decisive snap, and turned on her heel. She hurried out of the Plaza as fast as she could go without slipping on their shiny marble floors, downing a last glass of bubbly on her way out.

This was more easily said than done, as she was feeling a little lightheaded in the bright lights amidst the myriad of reflective surfaces.

She found herself blinking outside a few minutes later, shaking her head slightly as she tried to orient herself. Right, Park Street and 5th was that way. Clicking her way down the sidewalk, Kate cursed her stilettos, and her decision to down five glasses of champagne. She paused for a few seconds to take off her heels, carrying them until she spotted the yellow tape. Ruefully, she slid them back on and made her way towards the clump of NYPD officers, trying not to stagger at the way the balls of her feet protested at the sudden pressure.

"Beckett! Over here!" Lanie waved her over to the dumpster, tucking her hair behind her ear as she shuffled sideways to let her friend in.

"Damn, Beckett, you clean up good," remarked Esposito, eyeing her up and down with a small smirk.

"Easy, Esposito," she muttered, stuttering only slightly at his name. "What do we have?"

"Oh my God, Kate, are you drunk?" asked Lanie, hurrying forward and trying to smell her friend's breath. "'Cause if you are, you shouldn't be here. How much champagne have you had?"

"It's the only way to get through these things," she admitted, bending down to take a closer look at the victim.

Lanie rolled her eyes and squatted down. "Single GSW to the heart, bruising on her arms, and defensive wounds. She fought back. Based on lividity and liver temp I'd say she's only been dead for an hour and a half at most. We're working on an ID right now."

"Don't need one. That's Marissa Wainwright. She was at the gala earlier; I recognize her dress," Kate said, sizing up the petite body in the dumpster.

"Really Kate? You recognize her dress?" Lanie turned around and stared hard at her friend, one eyebrow raised.

"Do you know how many people show up to these things in Balmain evening gowns? Not many," replied Kate defensively, smoothing a hand over her updo, which was rapidly falling apart.

"Okay," said Lanie with a chuckle. "Well, let's get her back to the lab and I'll have a closer look, but I'm certain the cause of death was the gunshot wound. You need to go get sobered up. We'll see you in the morning. There's not much we can do here for now."

"I'll get CSU to do a full sweep of the crime scene," Kate said. "We'll start talking to the family tomorrow. Oh God, we're going to have to interview all the gala's guests." She twisted her diamond necklace between her latex-gloved fingers.

"Alright, well, let's get you home, okay?" Ryan grinned and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll call you a cab."

"Ryan, I'm fine. I can handle myself," she replied, batting away his hand and heading away from the crime scene. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

"Night Beckett," said Ryan, following her out of the alley and onto the street for good measure. He watched as she flagged down a yellow cab and got inside, the car speeding off into the night before he turned and headed back to the yellow tape and blood spatters.

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><p><strong>an: **I hope you enjoyed this thus far. If you have time, please drop me a review!


	2. Gold Dust

**a/n: **Thanks to everybody who read and reviewed/faved! The response was awesome. Sorry this one took so long, but hope it's worth the wait.

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><p>Kate Beckett walked into the 12th precinct the next morning, rubbing her eyes and downing coffee like the drink was going out of style. She wasn't feeling exactly hungover due to the three bottles of water she'd consumed since getting home the previous night, but it was more like an all-over malaise. Either way, she had a case and a small nuisance of a headache wasn't going to keep her from doing her job.<p>

"How was your ball last night?" asked Ryan with a chuckle. He took a sip from his cup of coffee and immediately grimaced, forcing the hot liquid down with some difficulty and a splutter. "Meet any handsome princes?"

"Not exactly," Kate replied with a small grin, sitting down at her desk and making herself comfortable. She booted up her computer and began to check her email.

"Lanie has lab results for us," said Esposito as he entered the bullpen, waving a file in one hand. "She says tox screens came back negative, but wants to see you, Beckett."

"Come on, Ryan," said Kate, standing up and waving the sandy-haired detective over. "Let's go see Lanie."

"I was wondering when you were going to show up," said Lanie, turning away from the table and facing them Beckett and Ryan with a grin. "I've confirmed that this is Marissa Wainwright, 26, daughter of Bruce Wainwright, the publishing mogul. She was currently working for him as a journalist. I put her time of death between 10 and 11 pm last night. Her tox screens came back negative, except for the fact that her blood alcohol levels were higher than normal. So she wasn't drugged, just drunk."

"Fair enough," muttered Beckett, tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear and leaning closer to the body to take a second look. Bruises were emerging along her forearms and neck. They stained her collarbone like a necklace of blue jewels. Her cheekbones bore abrasions and bruises as well. Clearly, she'd put up a fight.

"She was shot at point blank range with a .45," Lanie continued. "We're running ballistics now. However, I did find something a little out of the ordinary. I found traces of gold dust powder on her gown, on her face, in her hair, and on her arms. I haven't isolated the brand yet, but it's some kind of cosmetic. It was in localized spots, so I don't think she applied it herself. It's likely it brushed off from whoever attacked her."

"It looks like her attacker was a woman," said Ryan. "I don't know of any guys who would buy or wear gold dust powder." He leaned in for a closer look, narrowing his blue eyes at the specks of shimmery powder on her skin. "That's certainly… sparkly."

"Thanks Lanie," Beckett said, accepting the file from her friend and surveying the victim again. She squinted at the girl's blonde hair, noticing the flecks of shimmery powder. Pulling on gloves, she lifted the girl's strands of hair, working her fingers down the scalp until she found a small bump just below her hairline under her left ear. "She was hit from behind."

"Her attacker must have blitzed her on her way home. Marissa would have turned around, temporarily stunned, and then attempted to fight back. The two probably exchanged punches or slaps or whatever women do, judging by the state of her arms and face, and then her attacker shot her," Ryan theorized.

"And then managed to put her body into the dumpster, where she was found by a passerby," said Kate, snapping off her gloves and throwing them into the trash can on her way out. "Keep us updated on lab results, alright Lanie?"

"You know it," replied Lanie, already turning back to the table and the victim. "Go catch her killer."

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><p>"So we have a huge pool of potential suspects. First there's the entire Wainwright family that lives in New York. That's her father Bruce, stepmother Shelly, and her brother David. There are more but we have confirmation that they weren't even in the country during the murder. Then we have all the guests at the gala, all 105 of them. Even worse, there's all the staff too." Ryan sighed and turned away from his computer screen to look over at Beckett. He blew out a long breath and shuffled the papers in his hands. "Wow, that's a long list."<p>

"Sure is," Kate agreed with a small groan, standing up reluctantly. "We'll interview the Wainwrights and then divide the rest of the guests and call them all in."

"Speaking of, David and Bruce Wainwright are here. I have David in the interview room and Bruce waiting outside," Esposito said, sticking his head around her cubicle. He handed her a copy of the case file and Ryan the other copy.

"Right, come on Ryan," said Beckett, waving the younger detective over. "We've got to go question the brother."

She pushed open the door to the interrogation room and surveyed the tall, dark-haired man sitting in the chair. His blue eyes were red and puffy behind his horn-rimmed glasses, and he was wearing a neat gray suit and crisp blue shirt. He looked up at the sound of her heels, hands folded in his lap.

"Good morning, Mr. Wainwright, I'm Detective Beckett. I'm sorry to do this, but I'm sure you understand that we have to ask you some questions," Kate said, smoothing her curls and opening the case file. She slid it across to Ryan, keeping her eyes focused on the victim's brother.

"Of course," he replied, meeting her gaze squarely. "I want to do whatever it takes to find my sister's killer. Is there anything you want to start off with?"

Kate frowned for a split second, a little thrown by his direct approach. She wasn't used to suspects asking the questions. That was her job. "I would ask for an alibi, but I already confirmed that you were presenting awards during the time your sister was killed last night. So, let's start with people that might have wanted to hurt Marissa, people she didn't get along with. Can you think of anyone?"

"No, Marissa didn't have any enemies. She stayed out of the spotlight," he said, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady his voice. "She and Dad didn't always get along, though. She was supposed to go to Columbia after high school and become a journalist. She'd always loved writing and wanted to do good in the world." David broke off with a small laugh, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away with his sleeve and took another deep breath, nostrils flaring and then pinching in. "But on her 18th birthday she cleaned out her college trust fund and took off. Dad was furious and cut her off. He's refused to talk to her since.

"Anyways, she disappeared, and went to Haiti, Guatamala, and Africa, doing community service and helping to build hospitals, schools, and houses for three years. Then she just reappeared on my doorstep one night, tanned and dirty, with dreadlocks. Said she had seen the world and wanted to settle down. Then she enrolled in school. She tried to make up with Dad but he wasn't having it at first, but then he slowly warmed up and offered her a position when she graduated. I think he was even going to put her back on his will," David finished, blinking rapidly. He polished the lenses of his glasses on his sleeve and looked back up at Beckett, who was frowning.

"Where did Marissa get the money to go back to school? I thought you said that she cleaned out her bank account and trust fund," Beckett said.

"I had some saved up. I leant her part of it, and she got scholarships and student loans. She is - was - paying me back," David explained, shifting slightly in his chair. He was sweating under the white lights, and tears were pooling in his eyes. "I don't mind not getting the money back, that's fine, but I want my sister back."

"I hate to do this, but was there anyone who wouldn't benefit from Marissa reconciling with her father?" asked Ryan, opening the case file and staring down at Marissa's gold-dusted body.

"Shelly – that's my stepmother, Dad remarried after Mom died – would have gotten a little more money, but not much. She had her own fortune," David said, biting his lip. "She never needed him for money."

"Alright. We found traces of gold dust powder on Marissa's body, the cosmetic kind. Would she ever have worn something like that?" asked Beckett, leaning forward and sliding the crime scene photos across the table to him, keeping Marissa's face hidden as best she could. She didn't want David's last image of his sister to be her crime scene photos, with her chest stained with blood and skin distinctly blue.

"Gold dust powder?" David's eyebrows puckered low over his eyes in a frown.

"Yeah, 24-karat gold dust powder," said Ryan.

"Riss would never have worn that. She hated expensive cosmetics. I'm pretty sure everything she bought was from the drugstore. She used to leave her make-up bag around and I only ever saw mascara, eyeliner, and neutral eye shadows. I don't think she even owned powder. It doesn't make sense." He shook his head, frowning again. He let out another mirthless laugh. "She used to joke that if it cost more than 15 dollars she wouldn't buy it."

"Well, I think we're done here," Beckett said, standing up and tucking all the photos back into the folder. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Wainwright, and please don't leave town in case we have further questions."

"I hope you find Riss's killer soon," said David as he stood up and pushed his chair in. "We really appreciated everything you're doing."

"We're going to do everything in our power to bring Marissa's killer to justice, I promise." Beckett gave him a smile, ushering him out of the room and bringing his father in.

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><p>Half an hour later, Kate stood and watched the two men head out into the elevator before sinking down at her desk, feeling a little deflated. Both had airtight alibis and they just needed to bring in the stepmother for questioning before moving on to the rest of the gala's guests. That, of course, would include Richard Castle. She sighed, pushing her fingers through her loose waves, and refocused on the case file in front of her.<p>

Her cell buzzed from her desk, the red light flashing. With a small smile, Beckett picked it up and checked the caller ID. Richard Castle. Her smile cranked up a few watts and she pressed talk. "Hey, Castle, it's Beckett. Sorry, Kate. I'm on duty."

"Am I disrupting you?" he asked, voice crackling through the phone's tiny speaker.

"Not at all, there's currently a lull in suspects for questioning. However, I am curious how you got my number," Kate grinned, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

"I have my sources. I was going to suggest that we get coffee sometime," he said.

"How about lunch? I have a break in fifteen minutes," she suggested with another smile. "There's this little coffee shop just a few blocks from the 12th, called Cora's. Meet there at 12:30?"

"Sounds great," he said with a chuckle. "See you then."

With another smile, Beckett put down her phone and tucked it into the pocket of her grey blazer. She stood up and headed over to the murder board, joining Ryan and Esposito. They were scrutinizing the evidence so far, of which there was precious little. "Anything new, boys?"

"Not at all. We're going to bring in the stepmom and the rest of the guests after lunch to be interviewed," said Ryan, grabbing a red marker and scribbling down David Wainwright's information on the board below his picture.

"We did, however, get lab results from Lanie on the maker of the gold dust powder found on the victim, as well as further tox screen results," Esposito said, slapping the folder down on the nearest flat surface. He opened it, and handed the result to Kate, who scanned it quickly. "The gold dust powder is made by Jeannette Ireland. It's sold at high-end department stores, so I phoned Nordstrom. They sell more of it than you'd think so that hit a dead end. Sorry, Beckett."

"And the tox screens came back negative," finished Kate, biting her lip and throwing down the folder in frustration. "Why don't we get some food and come back in an hour?"

"Sounds good to me, I'm starving." Esposito rubbed his stomach and grabbed his wallet on his way out of the precinct with Ryan. "See you after lunch, Becks."

"Yeah, you too." Beckett picked her purse up off the floor and took her scarf from the back of her chair, tucking it so it hugged her neck softly. She took the elevator down to street level and covered the three blocks to the coffee shop within a few minutes.

Pushing open the door, she quickly scanned the place for the familiar face, and found him waving from a table by the window. With a grin, she hoisted her purse a little higher on her shoulder and hurried over to him, taking a seat. "Hey, Rick."

"Good to see you again, Kate," he said with a warm smile, taking a sip of his coffee. "How's your murder investigation going?"

Kate let out a laugh, lips twitching up in a smile. "Oh, so that's why you're really here. You want to know about the case."

"Of course not, I wanted to see you. But the case is always interesting. Got any leads?"

"Not yet. We do know it happened during the gala, meaning we have to interview everybody who was there, plus all the staff working," said Kate, eyes flickering up to his face. She ran her fingers through her curls again in frustration. "You know, that means you'll have to come in too."

"I didn't do it. I was with you the entire time," he said, confused. "But is there any way I could help with the investigation?"

"I know that, but we do need to talk to everybody," Kate replied, looking up in surprise as one of the baristas came towards them, balancing a club sandwich for him and a chicken Caesar wrap for her, along with a steaming skim latte with two pumps of sugar free vanilla. She received her meal with a smile in the barista's direction, arranging her knife and fork. "I didn't order yet, Rick. How'd you know?"

"I don't know, you seemed like a chicken Caesar kind of girl. And I asked the girl about your order." Again with the impish smile that was already making Beckett feel all warm and tingly inside.

"I'm pretty sure they'd know what I wanted to order the second I got in the door," Kate said with a laugh. "I guess you could say I'm a regular. I appreciate it though. I was hungry."

"My pleasure." He grinned widely again, peering at her curiously over the top of his cup of coffee.

"You know you're going to have to come in for questioning sometime. Why don't you come back to the precinct with me?"

"Works for me. I'm supposed to be finishing up my next book, but that can wait," he answered, waving a hand noncommittally and trying to wedge his mouth around his huge club sandwich. Tomatoes spilled out the sides and he tried to poke them back in, only succeeding in coating his fingers with mayonnaise.

Kate chuckled before she could help herself, quickly covering her mouth with a hand, nail polish still flawless from the night before. "Sorry. You've got tomatoes trying to escape there."

He chewed slowly, putting the sandwich back down on his plate, giving her the once-over again. "So, why haven't I seen you at events before?"

"I try to avoid them. They're all bling and no substance," Kate replied, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "I'm just not into getting my hair and nails done and playing dress-up in a fancy dress and shoes. I mean, I support the causes, just from a distance."

"I hear you," Rick said, taking a smaller bite of his sandwich. "I go when I have to. It's good publicity but it gets tiring to have all the single ladies in New York trying to get to know me. I never know who's serious and who just wants my money. Sometimes it's tough to be a millionaire." He threw her another smirk, but there was no self-centered gleam to it.

"I can imagine," Kate said drily, checking the time on her watch. "Oh hey, it's 1:15, my lunch break's almost over. Are you almost done?"

"Yeah," said Rick, swallowing the last of his sandwich and brushing the crumbs off onto his lap. He stood up and grinned at her from across the table.

"Let's go," Kate said with a smile at his excitement. She made her way to the counter to pay, with him hot on her heels like an overzealous puppy.

"Alright, back to the precinct!" Practically hopping up and down with excitement, Rick paid for his meal and followed her out the door eagerly.

"It's not nearly as exciting as it sounds," Kate replied over her shoulder, pausing for a beat to let him catch up to her. "They're just going to ask you questions."

"Not you. Oh," Rick said with a disappointed pout, falling into step with her as they crossed the street and headed down the block to the precinct.

"Sorry, I have to navigate the pissed off members of high society with their expensive lawyers who do not want anything to do with the police," said Kate apologetically. "But, I can vouch that you didn't kill Marissa."

"Well, thanks," said Rick with a chuckle. "Look, I happen to be very good at dealing with high society. I've spent my entire life dealing with them."

"So have I, to a lesser extent." Kate pushed open the door and headed toward the elevator. She hit the up button and leaned back, arms folded, while she waited for the elevator to drop. A small hiss indicated that it was coming, and she heaved a small sigh.

"Not particularly looking forward to this?" asked Castle, looking positively delighted to be inside the station. He held the elevator doors for Kate, and then got in himself.

"Not particularly," she replied. "Lawyers get in the way, prevent people from saying important things. Everybody's hiding something." She ran her fingers through her curls again, and then popped the top button of her spring jacket.

"Yo, Beckett!" Esposito rounded the corner, file in hand, and a coffee in the other. "I've got the first few people waiting, but they're not happy and threatening to sue."

"Great." Kate rolled her eyes. "Espo, this is Rick Castle. He was at the gala last night, but he was with me during the kill zone, so suffice it to say, he's not involved. You can ask him a few questions, see if he remembers anything."

"Sounds good. Rick, come with me," said Esposito, putting down the file. "I've just got a few questions."

"This is so awesome!" Rick's face lit up as he followed the Hispanic detective, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"Ryan, with me. We've got to talk to the guests first," said Kate, turning to the blue-eyed detective and heading toward the interview room.

"This should be interesting," he said, as he shut the door and sat down in front of gala guests numbers one and two, Mr. and Mrs. Van Pelt.

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><p><strong>an:** If you liked this chapter please review! It makes me smile and encourages me to post faster.


	3. Partners

**A/N: **I'm so sorry that this took me so long to update! Hopefully I'll be able to squeeze in more frequent updates now that my muse for this has come back. As always, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed/faved. You guys are awesome!

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

"Right in here, Mr. Castle," said Esposito with a small smile, ushering him into interrogation room two. He sat across from the writer and settled himself before starting the questions.

"This is so cool! I've never been in an interrogation room," Castle said, almost fidgeting with excitement and looking around the small room. "Is that a one-way mirror?" He waved at the sheet of glass and then fixed his hair in the reflection.

"Yes it is," conceded Esposito, chuckling. "But there's nobody behind it, watching us. Can we get started?"

"Sure, sure. What did you want to ask me?" asked Castle, settling himself with some difficulty and folding his hands on the table.

Esposito opened his copy of the case file, where a few questions had been jotted on a piece of looseleaf in his broad, straight hand. "Did you notice Ms. Wainwright at the dinner? Was anybody staring at her or overly fascinated with her? Did you notice her arguing with anybody?" he asked, arranging the sheet of paper in front of him so it was easier to read.

"I didn't see anything at all. I think she was at the table a few over from mine, but like Beckett said, I was with her for most of the night, until she got the call," Castle replied, shaking his head and frowning as he tried to jog his memory. "No, I don't remember anything more than that, I'm sorry."

"Well, Mr. Castle, then I guess that's it," said Esposito, closing the file and standing up. He motioned for the brunet across the table to do so as well.

"That's all?" Castle looked up, face incredibly disappointed. He stood slowly, tweaking his blazer back into place, and followed the Latino detective out of the interrogation room.

When he emerged, Kate was staring at the murder board and frowning. The little pout on her face was beyond adorable.

"Don't you have high society peeps to interrogate?" he asked, sidling up behind her and staring over her shoulder at the board. "I'm surprised you haven't been sued for wasting their time by now."

"Yeah, me either," replied Kate, turning around slowly, and then jumping back when she realized how close his face was to hers. "Where'd you come from?"

"Uh, the interrogation room?" He raised an eyebrow and grinned.

Scanning the murder board again, Kate groaned. "Yeah, speaking of which, I'd better get back."

"Alright. Anything I can do to help?" he asked, with an eager puppy look on his face.

"Castle, just because you write a detective doesn't mean you are one, okay? Let me handle this," she said, running her hands through her curls.

"I'm sorry," he replied, face falling. "I didn't mean to interfere. I just – look, if there's anything I can do to help, let me know."

"I know. For now, I think I'm good. Look, I've gotta go talk to William Randolph," she told him, picking up her case file again and turning.

"_The_ William Randolph?" asked Castle, raising an eyebrow again.

"_The_ William Randolph," she affirmed, smacking her case file against her palm. "He's a close friend of my dad. This is going to be fun."

"Well, good luck." He settled into the nearest chair facing the murder board, and crossed his legs comfortably. "I'll be here when you're done."

"Thanks." She smiled and turned away from the grisly crime scene images, heading to the interrogation room where the familiar face was waiting.

"Hello, Kate, long time no see," he greeted her, with a wide smile.

"It's Detective Beckett, Mr. Randolph," she replied coolly, opening her case file. "I just need to ask you some questions about what you were doing last night."

"Kate, surely you're not implying that I was involved?" he asked, giving her another smile, flashing his bleached white teeth. "I don't want to have to tell your father that you interrogated me.

"It's Detective Beckett, _William_," Kate ground out, taking off her blazer and rolling up the sleeves of her crisp rose-coloured blouse. "Are you threatening me? Because your behaviour suggests that you're hiding something, and I'm sure my father wouldn't like to know that one of his close friends is involved in crime."

"I can assure you that I had nothing to do with that girl's death," he replied, meeting Kate's gaze squarely.

"Then you won't mind telling me what you were doing at 9 o'clock last night," she countered coolly.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and she suppressed her initial rush of satisfaction that she'd gotten to him. Silently, she watched the gears in his head turn while he debated what to say.

"Detective Beckett, I maintain that I saw not involved." The grey-haired man folded his hands on the table and raised his chin defiantly.

"Alibi, Mr. Randolph," she growled, tired of playing games. She discretely checked her watch, and tried not to grimace. He'd wasted ten minutes already, and she had a long line of pissed off crème de la crème waiting to be questioned.

"Fine." He swallowed, bowed his head, and then met her eyes again. "I was at the soiree, but I was, um, busy with Mrs. Beauchamp."

Kate fought valiantly to control her urge to giggle. "Can he corroborate that, Mr. Randolph?"

"Yes, but I doubt she will want to. This could ruin us both. Can you just keep this our little secret?" he asked pleadingly, breaking a sweat for the first time since he'd entered the room.

"Sorry, Mr. Randolph, no can do," Kate replied with a casual shrug. "I'm afraid I have to check all alibis. See, a girl is dead, and in my world that counts for a lot more than a few reputations. We're done here. You're free to go." Slapping her file shut, she pushed back her chair and left the room, leaving him open-mouthed in her wake.

Castle was waiting in the chair next to her desk, looking for all the world as though he had hunkered down for life. "Find anything?" he asked, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was fishing for details.

"Yes. And you're not getting anything out of me. Confidentiality, Castle," Kate smirked, and bit her lip.

"Fine." He pouted, and thrust a steaming cup of coffee towards her. "I made you coffee. You look like you could use it."

"Thanks, Castle," she said honestly, giving him a genuine smile. "Look, I really have to go talk to someone. I'll see you later."

"I'll still be here." He folded his jean-clad legs and stretched, propping his hands behind his head and kicking back. He ignored Ryan's arched eyebrow and settled further into his chair.

"Mrs. Beauchamp, can you come with me, please?" asked Kate, as she made her way into the interview room.

The opulently dressed middle-aged woman stood up and followed the detective through the station to the interrogation rooms. "Really, Detective Beckett? An interrogation room? I refuse to be treated like a common criminal," she sniffed, clearly unimpressed, as Kate ushered her into one of the rooms.

"We're all equal in here," she said calmly, taking a seat. She folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. "I just need to ask you a few questions. It shouldn't take long."

Mrs. Beauchamp made a show of checking her watch, and then adjusted her silk scarf. "Alright."

"Where were you at 9 o'clock on the night of April 14th?" Kate asked, maintaining eye contact with the petite woman.

"At the gala."

Kate forced a tight smile on her face. "I'm fully aware of that, Mrs. Beauchamp. I was there too. Red Carolina Herrera dress, am I right? I was asking where exactly were you at 9 o'clock that night, and who you were with."

The woman's icy blue eyes opened a little wider, and she folded her hands in her lap. "I was at my husband's table. There were eight of us, the Rockefellers, the Wymans, and the Rothsteins," she replied calmly.

"If I asked your husband, would he tell me that you were there all night?" Kate pressed, ignoring the gasp of shock from across the table.

Her lips compressed, and her eyes dropped to examine her perfectly manicured red nails. "No."

"Why not?" She could barely keep the triumphant smile off her face. She leaned farther forward, trying to lock the older woman's gaze, ignoring the fact that her green eyes were sparkling with the success of breaking a suspect. A small rush of adrenaline bloomed in the pit of her stomach, waking her up instantly.

"I left for a bit," she admitted, dragging bleached teeth across her peachy lipstick.

"I know that. Tell me where you were and who you were with, and we should be able to wrap up," Kate said, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug and taking a sip.

"Fine, but on one condition: my husband doesn't know about this," she said softly, staring intently at her nails. "There are reputations at stake."

"There are no conditions in here," Kate replied, catching her gaze and pinning her with it. "You tell me where you were and you get to leave. I can't make promises that this won't get out, but if it does, it won't be from me or my department. I have a murder to solve, Mrs. Beauchamp, and plenty of others waiting to be questioned."

"Fine." Her eyes rolled upwards, and then focused in on Kate's face, stony and waiting. "I was with William Randolph until ten, then I came back to the table. My husband will corroborate that."

"Where were you?" prompted Kate, scribbling a note on her pad, and closing her case file.

"In a small office off the rooms where they were keeping the food just before it was served," she snapped, adjusting her scarf, and standing up. "May I go now?"

"Yes, Mrs. Beauchamp, you're free to go," Kate said, standing as well. She collected her notes and case file, and picked up her coffee mug. She followed the blonde out of the interrogation room, and back to the main waiting room, which was crammed with well-dressed people. They all looked up when the two appeared, and Mrs. Beauchamp hurried towards her husband.

Kate was just about to call him when Montgomery appeared from his office.

"Can I talk to you, Kate?" he asked, leaning in close and pulling her by the arm into his office.

"What's up, sir?" she asked, green eyes widening innocently.

"You're stepping on toes, Beckett," he said, cutting to the chase. "I just had a complaint from Mr. William Randolph and a few very nasty threats, because of how you treated him," he said, staring her down.

Kate sighed deeply and tipped her head back to ceiling, rolling her eyes. "He expected preferential treatment because he's rich and influential, and he knows my father. He tried to guilt me into letting him off easy. I'm just trying to do my job. I'm a homicide detective. Sometimes I have to step on a few toes to get answers," she replied, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"You're not helping yourself, Beckett," Montgomery said, lowering his voice ominously. "I think you could use a little help in dealing with these people."

"I've lived with 'these people' all my life. I can handle them," she retorted, hands gravitating to her hips. "Look, I'm sorry, but I can't please everyone, and I just want to solve Marissa's murder. Her brother's so torn up it's painful to look at."

"I understand that, Kate, but you've got to be tactful." He placed his hands on her shoulders and rotated her so he could look into her eyes.

"I'm being as tactful as I can be, but nobody's going to be treated better because they're a billionaire," she snapped, pushing her curls out of her face.

"I'm not saying they have to be. I'm just offering you some help in navigating this case," he said, closing his eyes for a second to gather his thoughts.

"I can do my job without help!" she insisted, glaring at him.

"I'm not calling you incompetent. Can you please calm down and listen to me?" Montgomery asked, and she pursed her lips, and took a deep breath.

"Of course."

"I'm saying that I think it would be a good idea to have a partner who's experienced in dealing with high society," he explained, sitting down at his desk, and motioning for her to take a seat. Huffing, she dropped into the chair opposite his desk.

"I have Ryan and Esposito," she said, biting her lip. "Who were you thinking?"

Montgomery's dark eyes drifted out to the chair where Castle sat, reclining comfortably, and watching Ryan work.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" Kate said, almost laughing at the idea. "He's not even a detective. He writes mysteries!"

"They're very good mysteries," Montgomery said placidly. "Besides, they're flawlessly researched all the way through. He could be a huge help. I'm not saying you can't do your job, because you definitely can. I'm just saying that this case is going to be tough and I think Castle could be helpful."

"I don't have a choice in this, do I?" she said, already sensing what the answer was going to be.

"Not really," he replied, shaking his head.

"Have you told him yet?"

"I was thinking you could do that," Montgomery suggested.

"You just want to watch the world burn, don't you?" Kate said, as she tossed her curls over her shoulder and stood up, snatching the case file off his desk. She drained the last of her coffee and pushed in her chair, and headed out to tell Castle the good news.

"How's it going?" he asked, eyes flickering lazily open as the clicking of her heels stopped. She loomed over him, pressing the case file to her chest.

"It's going great," she said tersely, slamming the case file down on her desk and making him jump. "I have a proposition for you." She ignored the way Ryan and Esposito's ears pricked up, even though they pretended to be absorbed in their paperwork.

"I'm listening." He took his feet off her desk and sat up straight, hands folded in his lap. His electric blue eyes were intently focused on her face. The barely-restrained excitement on his face was almost palpable.

"I'd like you to work with me on this case," she said quickly, hands on her hips. She stared him down, daring him to say no. "I need someone to help me deal with all the infuriating millionaires."

"Well, when you put it like that..." he smirked, trailing off. Her foot tapped impatiently.

"Well?" she demanded, arching an eyebrow.

"I guess I can help," he said, trading his smirk for a genuine, warm smile. "Do I get a gun?"

"No. I get paid to put myself in danger, but I can't have you putting all of New York in danger," she retorted, putting down her coffee mug.

"Fine. I guess I can live with that." He pouted, and then his eyes brightened. "It's a deal, partner." He held out his hand for her to shake, and she took it, shaking it firmly. In that instant, the electricity coursing through their fingers sealed the deal.

"You're on, _partner_."


End file.
